


Synergy

by bumblebeesandsussex



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Anderlock, Case Fic, Eventual Smut, Exchangelock AU Exchange 2014, Fawnlock, M/M, Male Slash, Warnings May Change, exchangelock, he'll learn eventually, sherlock doesn't know how to be nice, working together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebeesandsussex/pseuds/bumblebeesandsussex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had never met a mage before. There had never been a serious case where magic was involved, people were too scared of the otherworldly abilities, yet Sherlock had always wanted to encounter it for himself. When Anderson and Sherlock get dragged into the world of Mr. Talbot, experiencing first hand what a skilled mage is capable of achieving, they may not like the outcome. Getting dragged into a web of puzzles and secrets wasn't high on their to do list after all but now that both men have found themselves caught up, they will need each other's help to make it out in one piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Talbot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [General_Button](https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/gifts).



> Written for the Exchangelock AU gift exchange. Dear Brollybee, I hope you'll forgive my being late! I intend to make up for it in smut though.  
> Enjoy!

A light flicked on in the laboratory. Sherlock struggled to focus on what he was viewing through the microscope, the photosensitive particles reacting to the fluorescent flickering of the bad lighting. That ruined another sample **;**  how was he supposed to catch this killer before he struck again if everyone kept bothering him **?**  He knew going to St. Bart's would have been better but Molly had suspended him for stealing body parts. He'd have to remember to make it up to her. 

"Holmes."

With a sigh Sherlock responds, "What is it this time, Anderson?"

"Oh don't act like you don't know why I'm here. You can probably read it from my posture or where ever you seem to get it all from. And by the way, we are supposed to work together on this one **,** " With a murmur he adds, "Unfortunately."

"Did Lestrade set you up to this again? A mere four hours ago you were content to let me do all the important bits while you do... whatever it is that your mind can comprehend."

"Grow up, would you! In case you haven't noticed, you're stuck with me and you won't get anywhere on your own."

Anderson pops down on the spare chair and drags the microscope towards him. He adjusts the focus and turns up the light at the base of the instrument. The light caused the sample of silver halide to be unusable for further experiments and observation.

"For god's sake Anderson, you really do lower the IQ of the entire street. Which is remarkable since the entire Yard is made up of idiots!" Sherlock snaps at him. "Honestly, I could train one of the twits in holding to do your work better than you do it."

Anderson glares at Sherlock while he efficiently removes the sample and puts away the microscope.

"Whatever you were doing doesn't matter anymore. There has been an important development and Lestrade said to come get you." Anderson walks back to the door and before he rounds the corner he snapped back at Sherlock. "Now, Holmes! Not in three days time."

Sherlock sighs and suppresses the urge to go back home and forget about the case, but follows  Anderson anyway, wondering what on earth Lestrade had to mention that was more important than catching a killer.

 

* * *

 

Lestrade was waiting for Sherlock in his office, impatiently sipping a coffee. The moment he saw Sherlock he cut the consultant's words by holding up his hand and gesturing to follow him. They made their way to an interrogation room and Sherlock grew more and more impatient by Lestrade's silence.

Sherlock looked at the suspect and immediately lit up like thunder had struck him. He turned back to Lestrade and saw that Donovan and Anderson had joined them in the hallway. 

"He confessed." Lestrade pointed out **;**  the unspoken question of the suspect's involvement was apparent to Sherlock.

"It's him. Look at the tissue on his hands, repeated chemical burns tend to leave those scars. Did he mention why he turned himself in?"

Sherlock knew quite well that most serial killers turned themselves in to gain their self professed fame. It was always a good idea to listen to the explanation the suspects gave though, it saved time figuring out if there was another point to their actions.

Lestrade shook his head. "Only said he wanted to give himself to us. Something about it being a gift for our hard work?"

Gaining awareness for his accomplishments then. Boring. As usual there really was no point in getting his hopes up. In the end they all turned out to be dull, each one even more so than the last. What was the point of living in a world with magic if no one bothered to use it?

"So let the freak in, he speaks the same language." Donovan remarked. "And if we're really lucky he doesn't even have to say anything to get the suspect's whole life's story out of him."

Sherlock ignored the jibe, it wasn't worth the time. He wasn't allowed near the suspects unless lives depended on it. After all this time they still didn't trust him enough, or maybe it was just because they knew he'd never fill out the necessary paperwork.

"Sherlock, do you know where someone like him could get the supplies for tintype photography these days? It's not exactly a common hobby." Lestrade looked fully out of his depth by the murderer's fancy with photographing his victims with ancient camera's.

"Hmm. Maybe not but it isn't difficult to get these type of supplies through the internet." Sherlock offered. "There are numerous workshops available in the same range by both amateur and professional photographers." 

"So finding out where he gets his equipment will get us nowhere. And besides it doesn't matter. The creep is in there already." Anderson pointed towards the door of the interrogation room.

"Actually you'd better get to work, we still need evidence to link him to the crimes. His word alone won't stand in court." Donovan grabbed hold of Anderson's still outstretched arm and walked him through the information on the suspect that came back from standard processing.

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow to show Lestrade he was waiting for more but Lestrade ignored him and stepped into the interrogation room to question the suspect. Sherlock stayed behind with Anderson, as Donovan followed after the D.I. after issuing a quick 'do not interrupt' warning. As if this was Sherlock's first time watching Lestrade work.

The sergeant and the detective inspector left Anderson and Sherlock alone and entered the interrogation room.

"Alright sir, let's start with the basics. What is your name?" Lestrade knew that building this up would get them further than starting with shouting questions about motives. Guys like how the one in front of him looked usually reverted back into themselves when faced with anger so he'd best save that for later.

"Henry Talbot." The man stated with complete detachment. "William Henry Fox Talbot."

Donovan scoffed. "And let me guess, you were born in Dorset as well?"

Lestrade gave her a warning glare but was surprised to find the man agreed. He looked back at Mr. Talbot and continued taking down his basic information. In the adjacent room Anderson entered the information in the database and waited for results, either from Lestrade coming in to discuss or for the ping of the wheezing computer.

"Now, Mr. Talbot. Do you understand why you are here?" The D.I.'s voice was far calmer than he felt on the inside. He had the feeling everything was going way too smoothly so far.

Mr. Talbot shook from his detachment and focused all his attention on the man in front of him. Still completely composed, silently willing the Yarder to get to the interesting questions.

With a sly smile he answered, "Of course."

"Do you mind telling us why?" Lestrade offered.

"Well, I thought, after all your hard work in the last couple of weeks you would deserve to claim your prize. After all, you had a row with your wife about staying at work for so much longer than she deemed necessary. Ms. Donovan here had to cancel three dates because someone found my little  _mise-en-scènes_ . The technician has nightmares about my artworks and Mr. Holmes-" Talbot cut himself off to look directly at the camera, connected to a live feed in the adjacent room.

"- Mr. Holmes hasn't slept in days. Or eaten anything for that matter."

Talbot looked back at Lestrade and was still for a moment. When Lestrade  **** began to voice  another question Talbot interceded. Drawing his words out as much as he could.

"You should really look after yourselves and each other **,**  you know. One doesn't tend to... survive long in this world if there is no regard for well-being."

Lestrade cleared his throat before going back to asking the standard, but very much necessary questions of 'have you performed any rituals, spells or other magic before coming here', 'how did you choose your victims' and 'why did you kill them', but Talbot didn't answer any longer. After the umpteenth unanswered question Talbot offered one last sentence before falling silent and Lestrade walked out of the room.

"Send in that forensics guy and Mr. Holmes next, I'd like to talk to them."

 

* * *

 

"Can you believe that son of a..."

Lestrade was pacing around the small room next to the interrogation room. Talbot had something planned, he must have. He was entirely too cooperative while answering none of the questions, bringing them no closer to having him convicted and solving this case once and for all.

"Then let us in there. He asked for us and I know I can make him work along." Sherlock offered Lestrade.

"His information checks out. He really is William Henry Fox Talbot, born in Dorset." Anderson cut in.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "Don't be ridiculous. Archives are easy enough to manipulate. He's clearly delusional, tricked himself into thinking he is a photography pioneer and changed his records accordingly. He should be in a mental hospital, not a jail cell." 

"Do you really think you can get what we need?" Lestrade seemed at his wit's end already.

Sherlock didn't even have to answer the question. He rolled his eyes and Lestrade gave in, desperate for closure. Talbot was right though, they had all been working around the clock on this one, running in perpetuous circles.

"Fine. Go on then. Let's give the serial killer what he wants, Jesus." Lestrade cursed some more and then held the door open for Sherlock and Anderson to finally meet Talbot eye to eye.

Sherlock and Anderson sat down across the man, silent, waiting until Talbot started talking. He had demanded to see both of them and he would have to make up for that demand now.

Talbot smiled another skewed smile that only affected one side of his face before nodding his welcome at the two men in front of him, seeming more at home than Sherlock had ever seen a suspect during interrogation. 

"Hello. I finally get to meet you, you finally get to see the man responsible for your long hours of work." Talbot drawls.

Anderson opened his mouth but Sherlock beat him to it. "How did you know we were watching you?"

Talbot closes his eyes, mutters a "Clever you" and starts humming in a low tone. Anderson tenses next to Sherlock and starts to get up and flee the room but Sherlock grips his arm tightly and makes him stay put.

A slight shockwave reverberates through the room and Sherlock only just manages to suppress a bone deep shiver.

"Was that supposed to answer my question?"

Talbot laughs. "No I guess it doesn't. And yet it does. You see, I'm not as boring as you think everyone else is, Mr. Holmes. You've been dying to meet another mage for such a long time now and here I am."

Anderson audibly swallows as Talbot's eyes lock with his own.

"What do you want? Why walk in here and make it easy for us?" Anderson manages to say after a moment.

"I was always going to turn myself in, really I was. But before I could arrange my last work of art I was called upon, they found me. Said they already knew of my plans and they wanted me to inform someone. Be a messenger of sorts." Talbot looks down to his restrained hands. "They know your secret. They will come for you." 

Talbot is quiet for a couple of seconds and looks back up, pointedly not making contact with both men. "I'd suggest you both get back to work now. You have yet a lot to figure out about my craftsmanship. Good day gentlemen."

Sherlock's mind is buzzing with the information. No new information about the murders but plenty new puzzles to figure out. Were 'they' coming for him? Or was Anderson the intended receiver of the cryptic message? Surely not, Anderson could never have a secret worth threatening, the man was tedious in his predictability.

Yet Anderson seemed to be struggling with the message as well. Sherlock could see the worry lines his face had procured, none saying anything about the base of his worries other than the threat of an exposed secret. Sherlock was too caught up in thinking about who 'they' could be to see past the obvious.

"Oh and one last thing, the spell you felt was meant to temporarily shield technological equipment so the camera's don't start broadcasting the right signal until you walk out this door." Talbot informed them. "Couldn't have dear Lestrade knowing about this, lest he starts asking uncomfortable questions."

"What the hell is all of this supposed to mean?!" Anderson grips Talbot by the collar of his shirt and yanks him closer. "You just threatened multiple police officials. This  _will_  be added to your record." 

"Who are they?" Sherlock asks calmly.

Talbot laughs and puts up his hands in mock submission. "I'm only the messenger. Don't you worry Mr. Holmes, you'll soon know and then you'll be wishing you didn't. Now scoot. Run along and get to work."

Sherlock grabs Anderson's elbow and drags him out of the room. The door has only just closed before Anderson yanks his arm back and turns around, glaring at Sherlock. His anger is palpable and comes off him in waves. 

"Lestrade! Can you believe what he just said!" Anderson shouts at the D.I.

"You got the silent treatment too, I wonder why he asked for you two then. Hey, wait a second, what did I miss? He didn't do or say anything!" Lestrade looked at his forensic specialist with confusion.

Sherlock didn't have a chance to answer as Anderson let out a tirade on how Talbot even dared to threaten them but Lestrade still didn't follow.

Sherlock stepped in between Anderson and Lestrade, effectively cutting off the rant going on behind him. "You mean to say you haven't actually heard a word about was has just been said inside that room?"

Lestrade was entirely mystified as he nodded his head. "He sat there, quiet and composed, barely moving while you kept asking him questions."

Anderson finally ceased pacing behind Sherlock, stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face them. 

"So he was actually telling the truth about the camera's? That's not possible!" 

Donovan interjected, "Well then, what DID he say according to you and what is wrong with the camera's?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, it should have been obvious to both the Yarders what they were dealing with here. It was really not that hard if they would just think for a change.

"He's a mage, obviously. Placed a small masking hex on the camera's to shield you from the truth.

"That's just not possible. All of the equipment? But we could see you and hear you. You were both asking questions, the same ones I used. And he wasn't talking. I swear to god he didn't utter a single word! Sally... back me up here!" Lestrade spluttered.

As promised, all of the technological equipment wasn't functioning right. Or rather, they didn't record the truth as it had happened, it only showed what you'd expect to see. Sherlock was enthralled. He had never met someone who could control their spells so well that they crafted an intricate mask of deception within mere seconds. It usually took much longer to set up something so elaborate, especially since the society in which they lived outright feared the 'unnatural abilities', giving mages and witches no possibility to train their powers.

"Yeah it only showed you two asking questions and a mute Talbot. So what did he actually say to you then?" Sally asked.

Sherlock and Anderson exchanged glances. Neither was sure who Talbot had intended to threaten and silent agreement passed between them. They would not speak to others about what had happened, both for the sake of protecting a yet unidentified secret and to  **** figure out the puzzle that laid in front of them.

"He just threatened us. Said that we had to keep him out of incarceration and that he would repay us for it." Anderson quickly offered.

It was good enough, a simple lie wrapped in a figment of the truth always gives the best results as Sherlock knew damn well.

"You don't seem to be affected by this at all. What, you became buddies in five minutes time, is that it?" Sally spat out towards Sherlock.

"That's enough Sally. Go get started on the paperwork for this. I'll be up in my office in a moment." Lestrade paused for a moment to wait for Sally to leave. When they were alone he turned back to face Anderson and Sherlock.

"Listen, I don't know what he said but we will add his threats to the report, show it to the judge. If he has anything on either of you I need to know. I can make sure it stays out of the files, mostly at least, but I need to know so I can respond accordingly, okay?"

The two men in front of him nodded. Both clearly showing signs that nearly screamed 'no chance in hell' and Lestrade sighed, taking his loss.

"Alright then, I need you both to check out Talbot's house, see if you can find any new evidence. Do not take, move or destroy anything, this is a first look. If you spot anything suspicious, call me and we'll be down there in no time. I've got a meeting now but I'll call you in... let's say three hours?"

"Fine, give us the address." Sherlock responds shortly.

He knew how to behave himself, he didn't need Lestrade to tell him how to handle a possible crime scene. Then again, Anderson ruined plenty of evidence before Sherlock could use it to form an educated deduction. He would just have to beat Anderson to it to work out the details of this one. Sherlock had a feeling it was important to make sure he would take in every last scrap of information he could find.


	2. Curses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is massively overdue and I am SO sorry. I send this out to my dear beta Cee5 and forgot to edit and update. The next chapter will be up as soon as I finish it! 
> 
> There are hints of kidnapping through-out this chapter, consider this a warning if that is triggery for you.

Sherlock picked the lock on the front door of the apartment and Anderson scoffed at him; he would have preferred to get the owner of the building to come down and hand them a spare key but that would have taken another four hours since the man was visiting some relatives. Sherlock wiggled the pick and gained entry into the empty apartment used by Talbot. As he pushed open the door, Anderson grabbed his elbow and stopped him from walking through the door.

"Listen, we don't know if he's put up any defensive spells or wards to keep other people out. We have to be careful in there or we might set something off."

Sherlock looked at him for a moment, unsure if he was being paranoid or if he knew something Sherlock didn't. _Eyebrows close together, face drawn, tone of voice hesitating but certain. Concern._

"This isn't the first time I've dealt with magic, Anderson. So keep your apprehension to yourself as it will only halt our progress on this case." Sherlock offered haughtily.

"Well I know that you twat but you've never encountered a mage as powerful as Talbot." Anderson spat out.

"And you have? You wouldn't even recognise a hex if it was performed right in front of you." And with that Sherlock headed into the apartment, leaving a seething Anderson on the doorstep.

Anderson balled his fists and took a moment to calm down before he was tempted to punch that arrogant sod in the face. If there was anyone in Scotland Yard who knew about magic, it was him! He took a few calming breaths and headed after the consulting detective; the case was more important right now.

Sherlock was bustling through the living room so Anderson took the bedroom, looking for was any wayward evidence they could use to prove Talbot was the perpetrator. Nothing untoward showed at first glance; a neatly made bed took up most of the space, there was a small closet at the far end of the room and he made a mental note to check that in depth later. He crawled down to look under the bed and found a couple of boxes and barely stopped himself from reaching out and grabbing them.

"Shit... Holmes! Do you have any spare gloves?" Anderson shouted in the direction of the hallway.

He heard Sherlock sigh loudly and felt his footsteps shake the wooden floor. He held out a hand to grab the spare gloves while continuing to check under the bed, almost afraid the boxes would disappear if he lost sight of them.

Sherlock snapped the gloves and put them in Anderson's outstretched hand. "We may need to check with the neighbours to see if they happened to have heard any strange noises coming from Talbot. Sound carries well around here."

Anderson put on the gloves and grabbed the boxes, slowly dragging them towards the edge of the bed. A couple of loose photographs fell over the edge of the cardboard and both men held their breath in anticipation to see what the photographs would show. Anderson lifted a small stack and held it so Sherlock could watch over his shoulder. The first couple of photographs contained a small family out on a shopping trip, all happy and smiling. It felt wrong, these photographs shouldn't be here, happy and smiling wasn't how Talbot worked. Unfortunately it might show them how he picked his targets so they looked on. Both of them had knots in their stomachs as the photographs started to contain only the mother of the family.

Sherlock tore his gaze from the photo's and snapped back to reality; these were taken with an analogue camera but not with Talbot's ancient tintype's. Sherlock pointed it out and Anderson quickly looked through the rest of the box and found a stack of photo's better fitted to the mage. The same woman, the mother, was pictured in these as well, seemingly unconscious and undressed down to her underwear. Before he could watch the descend of the woman into becoming a plaything for the mage, Anderson put the photographs back in the box and stood up.

"This woman is not one of the victims we've found before," Sherlock said.

Anderson gulped as realisation sunk in. He told Sherlock he would give him five more minutes to go through everything as it was now before he would call Lestrade and arrange for the forensics team to come collect the evidence. They would have to set up an incident room to keep all the evidence together. They would have to find out who the woman was, maybe other clues in this forsaken apartment could fill them in on that.

Sherlock went back into the living room and continued his search, as Anderson continued in the bedroom. Sherlock let his gaze travel over all the objects in the room once more, trying to find something out of place.

_Old television set, dust marks on screen but lack on the on-switch, frequent use. Side table empty but for a single glass of odourless white fluids, water most likely. Hand-written letters covering a bigger table, used for meals, traces of dust and ground plants. No, redaction, used as a surface for preparing offerings, scratch marks from a ritual knife. Another set of letters on shelf, line of dust not level with paper._

Ah, the stories dust reveals. Carefully, Sherlock lifted the stack of paper and a key dropped on the floor in front of his feet. He picked it up and studied the innocuous object, noting the modern material used in the creation of the key, while the bit of the key looked obsolete. Sherlock quickly gazed over the letters but found no source to what the key may open.

In the bedroom, Anderson took out his phone and called Detective Inspector Lestrade, explaining the photographs they found of the presumably still missing woman and the potential of more evidence once his team had access to the scene.

Sherlock folded the letters in half and put the key between them, then tucked them in one of the Belstaff's inner pockets. Nothing else was to be found in the living room so Sherlock inspected the kitchen, hoping to find an athame knife or a shrine where Talbot may practice his magic. But not a single mote of dust was out of place; all cutlery lay in neat rows in the drawers and dirty dishes were nowhere to be found. The kitchen area stood in stark contrast to the smudged living room where objects lay scattered everywhere. The kitchen was spotless and sooner appeared to be taken out of a showroom from the 80's.

By the time Sherlock went to inspect the bathroom, Anderson finally hung up the phone, having given excessive orders on the equipment to be brought in. Most of that would be useless but the long wave lamps might prove useful in finding stray hairs and obscured blood drops, as Sherlock kindly pointed out.

Anderson joined Sherlock in the bathroom and leaned against the wall. "Found anything?"

Sherlock opened the shower curtain and noticed a long, curled hair sticking to the underside of the curtain. He took a pair of forceps from his toolkit and picked it up. Definitely not Talbot's.

"Evidence bag." Was his curt demand from Anderson, who reached into his own pockets and held it out for Sherlock.

"Anything else?" Anderson's voice was dripping with sarcasm but he was secretly pleased to have found more possible evidence to link Talbot to the murders.

"Mark the bag."

Sherlock held the bag out to Anderson who snatched it grudgingly from his hands and leaned back against the wall to look for something to write with. He opened his mouth to grumble about being treated like an equal, but as there was a click and disappearance of the wall behind him, a yelp came out instead.

His head slammed against the tile floor and he couldn't see anything but darkness. There was a loud pounding coming from the room and after a moment Anderson realised with a shock the pounding came from within his own head.

Sherlock heard the yelp and thump and as he turned around to see why Anderson had made those sounds, he was knocked on his back by a shockwave not unlike the one they had encountered back at the Yard. Another one of Talbot's spells. The lanky detective tried to stand up but found his legs to be too weak to carry him. He would fuss over other effects of the spell later, first he had to make sure Anderson was okay. He crawled over and pressed his fingers into Anderson's carotid artery. Elevated from the shock but otherwise in order, he was breathing a little faster but that too was accountable to falling. Yet Anderson didn't react to Sherlock's queries or contact. Sherlock was loath to shake him or tug at him because there was a chance he would exacerbate any damage that may have been done, instead he prodded Anderson's arm and leg.

"What use are you if you just insist on laying there!" Sherlock complained. "Come ON, you big idiot. Move!"

Anderson lay staring ahead of him; the pounding in his head slowly diminishing, the blackness however, didn't. If he tried really hard he could minimally move his head from side to side but he wasn't able to speak or lift anything. He tried to groan but nothing came out so he settled for thinking the sound, which gave him some relief and gradually awareness of what happened sunk in. That bastard Talbot had put a very strong defensive spell on a hidden doorway.

"PHILIP!" Sherlock panicked and smacked Anderson on the chest and enlivened the paralysed man enough for him to hear and speak again.

"Holmes! Are you all right?" He paused for a moment, trying to get his body under control. "I can't get up yet but I can move my head and fingers."

Sherlock nodded before he realised Anderson couldn't see his acknowledgement and responded verbally. In the meantime he tried to get hold of his phone to send Lestrade a warning.

"I can't see either; can you make out any light? I thought there was a light bulb somewhere along your bit of the wall." Anderson tried to remain calm  but his voice was wavering with stress.

Dread made its way through Sherlock's stomach. There was nothing wrong with the light, there was something wrong with Anderson's eyes. Sherlock managed to sit up and get hold of his phone. Even though he preferred texting, always had, he called Lestrade and told him to be careful when entering the apartment as there may be some magic residue lingering. No need for all of them to get affected by it.

"And Lestrade, send an ambulance this way. Anderson is suffering the effects of the spell more than I am and needs some looking at."

"Honestly Holmes I'm fine as long as you'll put on the bloody lights. Just get going." Anderson struggled against the invisible forces still holding him down. He managed to wrench one of his legs free of the bonds and inadvertently kicked Sherlock in the face, making him lose the phone.

"Fuck! Anderson you bloody fucking idiot! I am not able to get up yet and my phone just skittered away across the floor into the dark!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"What the fuck do you mean 'into the dark'?! It's dark everywhere!" Anderson spat out.

Sherlock hesitated to answer Anderson but after a long moment of silence he knew he had to let the other man know what was happening. He braced himself for the reaction he was going to get, not looking forward to another kick to the face; the last one stung his nose terribly and he suspected he may have been bleeding.

"Talbot's magic was a lot stronger than any of us realised," Sherlock began. "I wasn't aware certain spells were able to target individuals like this, I'm not experiencing the same severity as you currently are. There is no darkness, the light is on as it always had been."

Anderson swallowed down his sense of fear. Spells, he could work with spells. He could see the Yard's specialist, yeah, he would. First thing in the morning he would meet up with doctor Barber and have her remove the remnants of the curse. This was nothing to worry about, it was the first time he had to consult with her about removing a spell. But Sherlock had said something he had never heard of before. Mages with the ability to target individuals with a defensive spell when they weren't even near. Was there a reason he had been affected more than Sherlock had? Granted he was closer to the spell for a longer while than Sherlock had been but it didn't make any sense as the strength of a spell never decreased with distance, not that he had heard of anyway.

His breathing contained a hint of panic as another thought made its way to the surface. What if he would stay blind forever? What if doctor Barber couldn't help him? Hyperventilation crept up on him in the time it would take him to blink and another wayward thought came up: he may never be able to blink again. No, that was a silly thought; blind people could still open and close their eyes. But were his eyes actually open now or had he closed them? He couldn't feel it, oh god he didn't know. How could he not know?

"Anderson you need to breathe, it's going to be fine. Just a minor set back." Sherlock tried to reason with Anderson but it was no use. He was so sunken into panicked thoughts he was very likely not understanding a word he was saying. Sherlock repeated his words again and again but Anderson didn't respond.

"Philip, listen to me damn it!"

"I... I'm fine. Okay. Nothing to worry about." Anderson couldn't help but stammer; the words more meant for himself than for Sherlock's sake. He was putting on a brave front but on the inside he was scared out of his mind by his inability to see and the probability of the continuity of his current state. All of a sudden he squeaked and started laughing.

Breathless mirth took over and very soon he couldn't form any words due to the laughter. Sherlock didn't know what came over the other man and had no clue how to react to the sudden mood swing.

"You. You called me Philip. You never call me Philip! It's always idiot or Anderson, never Philip before!" Anderson managed to get out in between the fits.

Sherlock sighed as he realised it was pure elation on Anderson's behalf, glad to know he wouldn't have to come looking for his investigative partner in a loony bin but this wasn't the time for laughter, even he realised that. 

 

* * *

 

 

Anderson was being wheeled out of the apartment on a gurney belonging to the ambulance Lestrade had called. He had already been informed the hospital couldn't do anything for him to remove the remnants of the curse but they would check him over to see if any other permanent damage was done. Lestrade talked to Anderson, promising to retrieve him and take him to see doctor Barber soon as he was allowed to do so. Lestrade made his way back to where Sherlock sat wrapped up in a shock blanket, clutching the sides instead of sneering at the ambulance personnel for once. He hated to do this as Sherlock was vital to the investigation but the consulting detective needed rest badly. The lack of resistance made that very clear.

"Come on, let's get you home yeah, you look exhausted. There's no point in arguing with me about this, you need to rest so we can take a look at this flat tomorrow. I'll have an officer on guard so there won't be tampered with anything during the night. The forensics team will go over the room quickly but you already gave us the most important evidence so it's time to pack our things and get you to bed."

Sherlock scoffed. "I'm not a child Lestrade. I know I have no energy left to get home by myself. But so help me if your people ruin anything that helps me see the clues tomorrow. And I will come here tomorrow, by myself. I don't need anyone to hold my hand."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? What if you get hit by another curse and there's no one to help you? You saw the state Anderson is in now, I can't risk you too."

"Yet you have no qualms about letting the forensic analysts in here, opening packages and boxes. What if they're doused by a hazardous spell?"

"Okay, up you go." Lestrade tugged Sherlock up by his arm and supported him, walking out the door. "Let's get you home for now and we'll talk tomorrow. Do NOT head back on your own Sherlock, do you hear me!?" Lestrade could have been talking to the wall for all Sherlock reacted to the words.

 

* * *

 

 

When Sherlock woke up the next morning it didn't even occur to him to listen to Lestrade. After all, he had to go back to Talbot's apartment and it didn't matter if he was accompanied by someone else, that wouldn't protect him from perilous magic in any way, shape or form. Why bother to wait for approval, he never did and he didn't intend to start that now. He got dressed quickly and made his way back to the flat where he was hit by magic the previous night.

 

* * *

 

 

Anderson sat staring ahead of him as he waited to be let in the small office located in the most distant corner of New Scotland Yard. His trip to the hospital led him nowhere, as that was to be expected. To the casual passerby nothing seemed wrong with him in the first place, but upon closer inspection it was clear that he didn't react to sudden changes in his vicinity. No reactions to people walking past, differences in lighting, no eyes wandering around the room as he would have done when his sight was still a given. No longer would he take it for granted.

Doctor Barber told him to come in but quickly realised he needed some support getting into her office so she led him by the arm.

"Tell me what I can do for you today. D.I. Lestrade only mentioned you needed a consultation but didn't elaborate."

Anderson explained about the curse, how it had affected him much worse than Sherlock, who, for all intends and purposes seemed to be doing fine now. He told her about the fading of the numbness in his senses except for the blindness.

Doctor Barber listened to his information and started to compile a list of things she would need to try and counter the curse, lift it completely if that was at all possible.

"I'm not sure what has caused you to be unable to regain the functioning of your eyes but we can try a couple of things, starting with trying to lift the curse. If that works, you will not suffer any effects any longer but the chances of success are slim since I am not aware of the exact origin. I hope you aren't scared of having to undergo more spells. I know most people are nervous." She smiled at him even though she knew he wouldn't see.

Anderson answered without any hesitation. "I'm not. What if it doesn't work?"

"Then we'll have to try some alternatives but let's keep a positive mind to keep the good vibes flowing. It will help strengthen my magic."

Anderson had to suppress a snort. Good vibes had nothing to do with magic, even the weakest mages knew that. He sat still the entire time it took doctor Barber to douse him in powder, chanting some things that seemed to be coming straight from comedy films in the early years of filmhouses. At one point she pinched his eyelid and tugged on an eyelash and Anderson stood up immediately.

"I don't know what you think you are doing but you have no idea what real magic is if it would turn you into a toad." And with that Anderson left the fake mage standing alone in the office.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock entered the hidden room; he hadn't had the chance to examine the contents before he was guided home by Lestrade. Now, in proper lighting, Sherlock could see it was the backdrop for some of the photo's he had found earlier. There were a couple of shelves lined with old, broken camera's, chemicals belonging in a darkroom and some wayward boxes.

He snapped on a pair of gloves and started inspecting the walls featured in the pictures. There were scratch marks all over the plaster if he looked close enough. Two metal rings were bolted to the wall, signs of scraping on and around them indicated victims were chained to the walls. The chemical equipment was well used, bottles mostly emptied of their contents. The camera's were indeed broken, used so frequently the mechanisms were stuck, rendering them useless, only having display possibilities. Now on to the boxes; those were out of place. They didn't seem big enough to contain more equipment or finished photographs. Made of wood and silver, unusual combination in itself, exaggerated by the carvings on the lid.

Sherlock picked up one of them and held it up for closer inspection, turning it this way and that. There was no indication of what was inside. The front of the box was adorned by intricate silver antlers. There was only one way to find out what was inside; he had to open it. A small part of Sherlock thought he shouldn't, that he would do something very wrong by peeking inside, but the logical part of his brain spoke louder. There was a big possibility the boxes contained evidence or further leads; Sherlock needed to know so he could find the woman and have Lestrade return her safely to her family. Sherlock put the box down again and started pacing, unable to place his discontent.

He stopped pacing and told himself to get it over with, that he was being ridiculous. He lifted the box again and opened the lid swiftly. A new shockwave went through him.

_Oh fuck, not again._


	3. Threats

Sherlock stood there for a long while before he was able to shake himself out of his reverie. Nothing had happened to him. He patted down his entire body and tested all of his senses; complete with muttering nonsense in order to check the use of his vocal chords. It was clearly a release of a spell, so why didn't anything seem wrong? Granted, the spells Talbot had used earlier had felt much stronger. The shockwaves of those had send vibrates throughout his entire body at the very least and knocked him back by half a meter at worst. Come to think of it, this one barely grazed his hair; the instant fear of not knowing what would happen next made the sensation out to be a lot stronger than it actually was. He sat down on the middle of the floor, trying to get his breathing back in order. Maybe Lestrade was right, he shouldn't have come back here alone.

Sherlock let his gaze travel back to the metal rings adorning the far wall of the room. The scratch marks surrounding them were clearly from multiple persons and Sherlock had no trouble imagining Talbot keeping his victims hidden here until he could take them out of the vicinity of other people.

He gingerly walked forward and inspected the grazes in more detail with the use of a lens. One of them showed a very faint trace of blood and a few hairs stuck to the coarse material between the two metal rings. He bagged a couple but left some others for Lestrade and made his way back out of the hidden room. He had seen everything there was to learn. Sherlock reached out towards the door and stilled as he thought of something. What if he HAD been exposed to a malignant hex? He walked back to the secret room and collected the box with the silver antlers and wood carvings before leaving Talbot's apartment altogether.

In the cab back to Bakerstreet Sherlock texted Lestrade to let him know he wouldn't be needing any assistance. Lestrade called him, twice, which Sherlock pointedly ignored in favour of studying the box in broad daylight. His mobile chimed next to him on the seat, again and again. After five minutes of chiming noises the cab driver shot him a dirty look. Sherlock sighed and picked up his phone, quickly thumbing through the texts he had received in such a short while.

**10:58 October 10th.**  
 **From: D.I. Lestrade**  
Don't tell me you went on your own.  
\- L

**10:58 October 10th.**  
 **From: D.I. Lestrade**  
Sherlock! Answer me!  
\- L

**10:59 October 10th.**  
 **From: D.I. Lestrade**  
Fine. Don't answer. See if I care.  
\- L

**10:59 October 10th.**  
 **From: D.I. Lestrade**  
You're a bloody nuisance you know.  
\- L

**10:59 October 10th.**  
 **From: D.I. Lestrade**  
I won't allow you on any cases for the next two weeks.  
\- L

**10:59 October 10th.**  
 **From: D.I. Lestrade**  
What if something bad had happened and you were lying on that floor right now.  
\- L

**11:00 October 10th.**  
 **From: D.I. Lestrade**  
Choking on your own blood or some other horrible thing.  
\- L

**11:00 October 10th.**  
 **From: D.I. Lestrade**  
Alright, no cases indefinitely.   
\- L

Sherlock rolled his eyes. The texts went on after that but he had no patience to read more of them. He was obviously very much alive and he knew Lestrade would get him on cases either way. He paid the still irritated cabbie as he got out and opened the door to 221b.

He shed his coat and put the boxes and evidence on the coffee table before sinking down on the couch, steepling his hands together to retreat into his mind palace. There was something familiar about the pictures Sherlock had seen yesterday but he couldn't place what it was. As far as he was able to deduce, a young mothers' life depended on his finding her. And most infuriating of all, Sherlock was sure there had to be a connection between all of Talbot's victims beyond them only being women.

He slipped further and further away from the world around him; watching the photographs of the previous day appear and disappear at will, looking for the hidden pathways between all the evidence and solving the puzzle of the missing woman. He was devastatingly close to finding the connection between the missing woman and Talbot's other victims when his phone chimed again and dragged him out of the space in his mind. He had no patience in dealing with Lestrade's idiotic texts again so he let it go; opting for a shower instead.

As Sherlock undressed he heard his phone chime again and he glared at the approximate place where his phone lay on the other side of the flat. He stepped into the shower and tried to let go of the feeling, tried to relax as the rivulets of water cascaded down his hair and back. He grabbed some soap and started to cleanse his skin. Coming across a slightly dark patch on his chest, Sherlock started to scrub vigorously but the dirt didn't fade away, it only got redder as he exerted more force. Sherlock decided to leave it as he figured it may have been a result from one of the hexes; he made a mental note to check it over later. He reached for his shampoo and started rubbing in the liquid, massaging his scalp gently until he came across two bumps on the top of his head. He gingerly touched them and noted how they were very similarly shaped; bruises never tended to do that. He had fallen quite hard when Anderson had discovered the hidden room though, he must have bumped his head against some surface or other.

Sherlock rinsed his hair one last time and stepped out of the shower, drying off and getting dressed quickly. He wanted to visit Talbot again, now that he had new information to question him with. He grabbed his phone to glance over the texts before heading out, expecting to see numerous texts from the Detective Inspector. Instead he saw there had been three other messages from unknown origin in his inbox.

**16:00 October 10th.**  
 **From: Undisclosed**  
We will expose you. We will expose the forensic analyst.

**16:01 October 10th.**  
 **From: Undisclosed**  
There is no hiding from us.

**16:02 October 10th.**  
 **From: Undisclosed**  
You opened the box. It is starting.

Sherlock quickly ran through the options in his head. Talbot had warned Sherlock and Anderson that _They will come for you_. It was pretty clear the texts meant _they_  had finally contacted him directly through their own choosing. It may put him at a disadvantage to finding out who they were, but maybe he could one up them by making another visit while at the Yard.

Sherlock grabbed the evidence bag, flung his scarf around his neck, slipped on his leather gloves and coat and practically ran out the door.

In the cab on his way to Scotland Yard, he read the texts again and again; gaining almost no information of use and an array of confusing data is left in the wake of the messages.

They obviously knew from the beginning of his involvement in the Talbot case, though he wasn't exactly sneaking around or subtle about his involvement, meaning that this bit of information didn't exclude anyone. They knew he had opened the box, which is a little more impressive as he wasn't aware of any surveillance around the hidden area of Talbot's flat. He hadn't seen any working camera's or bugs but then again, he wasn't explicitly looking for them either. It would be very easy to hide a working camera within the old, broken ones. He didn't desire heading back to the apartment but he might have to do so to verify or disprove the presence of surveillance equipment. There could be some form of magic at work there as well; regarding the entire nature of the case he wouldn't be surprised to find that was the base of their knowledge.

As Sherlock entered NSY, his first trip was to the digital forensics unit to try and trace the origin of the messages. His second visit was to Lestrade, who was undoubtedly seething with Sherlock. He yanked the consultant through the door of his office and threw him into a chair, closing the door behind him to muffle some of the screaming which would certainly rise up soon.

"I told you not to do it. I told you plain and clear not to head back by yourself!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I collected the evidence I needed and got out. That's all there is to it."

Sherlock was omitting a crucial part of what happened but he first needed to know where the texts came from before he could let Lestrade in on what had actually passed in Talbot's flat.

"I know you are lying, Sherlock," said Lestrade through gritted teeth. "I hope that black eye was worth it. Where did you get it? Got into a brawl with someone in the building for telling them off? Could have been avoided if you would have listened."

"What black eye?"

Sherlock was confused about the mention of a black eye but outwardly looked calm enough for Lestrade to take it as sarcasm and rant on.

"Honestly, you could have ended up dead. Yes, exactly as I mentioned before in my texts. Don't roll your eyes at me. Why didn't you fucking answer me Sherlock? The only reason you were able to come in at your own volition and not have ME DRAGGING YOUR ARSE OUT HERE, is because Mrs. Hudson answered your phone for you!"

Sherlock started at that, he had not been aware of what had passed when he was in his mind palace. It wasn't the first time Mrs. Hudson had decided to intervene when he was otherwise engaged but it never ceased to alarm him a little to learn how far from reality he had been.

"She got so bothered by the noise your phone was making she picked it up to answer me, as you couldn't be arsed to let me know you were fucking okay instead of dead in a ditch or maimed like Anderson."

Sherlock glared. "I was just doing my job Lestrade, just as you were doing yours, sitting behind your desk waiting for the answers I would provide you with." He said it out of spite, because he was done with the argument, because he knew that Lestrade was going to repeat the same things over again and there just wasn't any time to do so.

He threw the evidence bag he collected at Talbot's flat on the desk and waited for a moment. He told Lestrade where exactly he had found the hairs and how he had left the Yard more of them at the source to use in their own investigation. He then stood up and took the bag, informing Lestrade he would be using the forensics lab to take a closer look while he waited for Talbot to be moved to an interview room.

"Sherlock, you do not call the shots around here. Your behaviour over the last couple of days has been horrendous and after this case is solved you are suspended until further notice. Christ, I should actually kick you off this case too. So you're in luck." At that, the anger finally drained from Lestrade's posture. "Look, it's not just my decision but we all think it would be for the best to take a break. You're worn down. We all are but you... You get insufferable when you're so drained."

"I am _f_ _ine_ ," Sherlock spat out and walked out of the door, making his way to the laboratories to examine the hairs.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock is seated behind a microscope, analyzing the hairs and waiting for the machines around him to stop whizzing and give him more information. He had instructed the Yard's forensic team on where to look and if he was truly honest, viewing the hairs under the lens this long didn't give him any useful information. It just killed the time.

Lestrade entered the lab and stood a distance away; he was acting indifferent and cool but Sherlock could easily see through the facade.

"He's been put in an interview room then?"

Lestrade nodded. "Sherlock. You understand it right? I'm worried about you. About all of us actually. This case is a fucking nightmare; we have one missing woman that we know of, yet to find the bodies of some of the deceased women from the gruesome pictures. Anderson is in a bad state. We're all frazzled. And I don't care if you think you did the right thing, you didn't and you know it. So, please. Accept the time off with good grace and think of it as a holiday. I'll be doing the same."

The cool facade had completely fallen from Lestrade's face; concern, genuine and unadulterated, had risen in its place. Sherlock nodded. He would never acknowledge it but some time off might be good, though he'd sooner think about five days than a couple of weeks. The mere thought agitated him immensely and he hoped he would be able to find some interesting cases through the blog before making his way onto crime scenes uninvited.

The door of the lab opened again and the woman he spoke to at the digital forensics unit made her way in.

"Sir. The texts you had me track originated from a mobile phone connected to a mister Henry Talbot."

Lestrade looked between the woman and Sherlock and addressed the consulting detective as he spoke. "Care to elaborate?"

The woman mistook him and answered, "Mister Talbot is currently a suspect in a homicide case and is in custody of the Yard."

"Yes we know. Now run along back to your job." Sherlock rolled his eyes as she looked uncertain of what to do. In the end she nodded at Lestrade and quickly exited the room while muttering the disrespect she was forced to deal with politely.

"She's right though. You could be a little more polite to people who are helping you."

Sherlock didn't answer; instead he showed Lestrade the three mysterious texts he had received earlier.

"And these were supposed to come from his phone?" At Sherlock's confirmation Lestrade resumed, "But that's not possible. We have his phone, it's in evidence."

"You had better make sure of that then. Remember to watch the security camera footage of the evidence storage as well as to check the log. Maybe the perpetrator is stupid enough to think they wouldn't be found out, that wouldn't be a first. Now, I need to speak with the illustrious Mister Talbot, though."

The two men quickly made their way over to the room containing the mage. The moment Talbot laid eyes on them he began to grin, giving his face a manic expression.

"Mister Holmes. You opened one of my precious boxes. Tell me. Is the other one doing all right?"

"Hmm," Sherlock let out, accompanied by a non-committal shrug. "So it seems."

"You have been contacted as well. That is why you're here, aren't you?"

Lestrade stepped forward and intervened before Sherlock would say something irresponsible.

"Mr. Talbot, I hope you are aware that threatening Scotland Yard officials will not further your case in the least. Who send those text messages?"

"I told you already, when we first met. It's them. I'm their messenger and you are the recipient." Talbot's gaze lingers on Sherlock, who still manages to mirror the intense scrutiny Talbot is giving him.

"And who might these people be, friends of yours?" Sherlock countered.

"Off sorts. You won't have heard of them. Very secretive, only come out when they want to be found. But don't worry. The wheels are set in motion now. They've contacted you and you... Well. You're in for a closer encounter of magic than you had hoped for, Sherlock Holmes."

"What did the box contain?" Sherlock was still the picture of calm while Lestrade struggled not to drag him out of the interrogation room and demand to know what the hell they were talking about.

"You'll find out soon enough. As you always say, the game is on; the others will contact you again. They will leave you clues where to find Constance. It will be all up to you to prove how clever you truly are because by the time you have found her, it might just be too late."

Lestrade rose to the bait. "What did you do to her Talbot? Where is she?"

"Constance isn't her real name though." Sherlock remained calm, trying to get the upper hand in the little game Talbot was playing but finding it hard to gain control.

"No." Talbot smirked.

"Constance was the original Henry Talbot's wife."

"Yes. She's mine."

Sherlock leaned forward in the chair, imposing on Talbot's personal space. "How long did you care for Constance? What happened to her family?"

"Nothing I haven't done before, detective," it was more a sneer than anything else. "You'll find out soon enough. They'll be in contact."

After that, no more words came from the photographers mouth. Eventually Lestrade and Sherlock left him to simmer for a while.

"First he said he gave himself to the yard as a gift, now he has another puzzle for us. Something changed. You may want to check on who has been able to talk to him." Sherlock offered to Lestrade.

"Sherlock, what the hell did you two mean with that bit about some box or other?" The D.I. made sure to sound as open but commanding as, mostly, that got him truthful answers. This time however, Sherlock wasn't about to play the game.

"You realise of course, that the blonde woman might not be the only one in need of our help." Sherlock started to retreat and leave Lestrade to deal with his own investigation. "And I meant the spell from the hidden room."

"No you didn't," Lestrade knew he was being kept out of the loop. "And for god's sake get some rest while I look into the possibilities of Talbot's phone being used for those texts and look for that woman, Constance!"

 

* * *

 

 

Anderson bumped into his dining room table for the sixth time that morning and let out a colourful combination of curses. He would have thought he'd known his way around his own house blindfolded, but now that he actually had lost his sight he wasn't as confident in his abilities. Donovan had helped him at first, bringing him home from his appointment with doctor Barber but she had to go back to work. It left him to take care of himself alone. One full day and already he was sick and tired of feeling his way around sharp objects and bumping into walls that definitely weren't there when he was able to see.

He made his way further into the kitchen, feeling his way around the surface, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water. Setting a cup in front of him, putting a tea bag in the cup and waiting for the kettle to finish boiling. He started pouring the water into the cup without splashing, but the sudden vibrations and sounds coming from his mobile in his pocket startled him and he poured the water over his own hand.

"Aaah! Enough! That is enough! This has to stop. Right. Now!"

Anderson runs his hand under the lukewarm water of the tap to remove the burn; all the while muttering to himself of ways to 'stop this'.


End file.
